


the Search for Fulfilment

by callmeflo



Series: if Wishes were Irises [4]
Category: Those Who Went Missing
Genre: Gen, Origin Prompt, and finally being happy ;U;, her first transformation!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 15:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16558181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeflo/pseuds/callmeflo
Summary: It starts with disrepair and ruin, but little by little, it returns to beauty.





	the Search for Fulfilment

She had spent the past two months ambling down coastlines, sand forever tickling in her fur but not bothering her, England’s bright but distant sun filtering down on her back, screeches of holidaying children carrying in the breeze as they rush through the sea foam with excited laughter. She had spent the past week ensconced on the crumbling peak of a cliff, paws crossed among the tangled bittersweet that clung to the edge, long, light tail being whipped around by the wind, thoughts drowned out by the rhythmic roaring and crashing of the waves just below her. The sea smashed violently at her pedestal with every high tide, strengthened by the rage of the far off ocean storms.

It is a complete surprise, then, to return to her boundary - a small but lively village, where everyone of able body is out in all weathers working to provide for each other and keep the place running - to find it utterly silent. The hum of ocean waves echo in her mind like tinnitus in the disorientating quiet, and with no chatter of gossiping housewives on their way to and from the fields, she feels like she’s in the wrong place. She can feel the tug on her soul, tying her powers to the ground where she stands, but the surroundings aren’t matching up to her memories. The horses’ clacking shoes aren’t trotting the well-worn path to pull their creaking wagons, the bucket at the well hangs empty instead of sloshing water into troughs and jugs, the bells at the church are not swinging in their practiced melody as they do every morning. The market square is bare and yet there aren’t voices carrying from inside homes instead - in fact, some of the houses have their doors hanging open, and the church’s great archway is clear of its usual flowers and offerings.

Flicker’s transformation was gentle, a gift of nostalgia to an old friend at the end of a long, fulfilling life, and the thought of it always fills her with the warmth and love that gave her the high, calm soul-song of a traveler. She has never before felt as lost as she does now, wrong-footed in the place she should feel most comfortable.

She steps forward along the dirt road that leads into the village proper. Her long fur curls around her cheeks as she looks left and right, and it brushes against the iris petals that spread languidly open at her wither. The day is dreary with just a ray or two of sunshine visible through the clouds, and it seems to suit the desolate atmosphere of the village. No one appears.

The flower gardens are still well groomed and the gates shine without rust or moss. The grass of the ornamental lawn is perhaps longer than usual, but any weeds are barely seedlings and no buildings look more weathered than usual. Goldhaven is near perfect as always, and it makes the absence of humans even more unnerving. Before she can start on a trot toward the church, one of her favourite spots in the village, a rustle of leaves and a whisper of magic catch her attention from a leafy hedgerow behind her.

A pair of small, untidy cats tumble from the foliage, rolling mid-tussle for several feet before leaping apart, and then racing away with tails high and their creamy fur tufted out in an attempt at intimidation. Cats are welcome in any rural village for their mouse-catching skills, and these are just two of the family of ragdoll moggies that have claimed the barn’s hay loft as their home. They are followed by a bigger cat with dark brown points and wide, intelligent blue eyes, and a golden flower blooming upon their back; this one breaks off from his self-assigned babysitting job to prance over to Flicker and touch noses. The butterscotch hues of their irises match perfectly.

The esk’s feline familiar appeared during the first few days of her second life, to stand sentinel alongside the other cats, guardian and protector of her precious boundary. He sends a swirl of thought through to his esk as he has done many times before, strings of overheard words and flashes of memories: mutterings about the creek being barren - carriages being loaded with burlap bags - the last gold pieces shared out at the market place and tucked safely into pockets - children clutching their stuffed toys as they begin the long walk out the village walls - silence and stillness, just the straggling elder and half-feral cats left -

An urging to follow him comes last, and she does. The pair soon reach the neatly trimmed lawn that precedes the greenhouses; large, glass walled buildings hidden amongst the orchard, home to plants and flowers that need a little extra care and warmth which has been generously given by the owner and caretaker for several decades.

As she glances around the area, a stuttering meow sounds from her left. A towering tree stands in the centre of the lawn, its rough trunk half obscured by ivy and lichen, ringed by a circular wooden bench crafted by the village’s carpenter. Upon it sits another ragdoll, this one alive but not so well, cornflower eyes inspecting the esk that she can finally see clearly in her time of need.

Flicker recognises the cat immediately: she is the beautiful, pampered pet who lounges on the sun-dappled paving of the greenhouse whilst her master trades herbs, leaves, and seeds with Flicker’s own mistress. With a smear of dirt and plant sap on her ear that hasn’t been brushed away with care, she is a far cry from her usual immaculate appearance.

At the first brush of empathy, Flicker bounds over to the cat. The hurt animals she occasionally finds are easily lifted back to the safety of their nests or protected in a safe burrow until they heal enough to leave; never has she felt the anguished pull of a lost soul, near untreatable. She snuffles at the ragdoll’s pink nose, brushes her warm fur against the cat’s chilly side, and gingerly guides them both in through the greenhouse door.

Minutes later, the glow of transformation magic shines through the glass windows.

x

With the humans abandoning the village to a nature spirit, all Flicker can do is help nature reclaim the land.

It starts with disrepair and ruin. The brick and wood fences begin to crumble as heavy rains and animal feet batter them, and the shingles of roofs become misplaced and weak. Rust forms on abandoned metal contraptions, and carpets of moss and moulds on everything else. Dirt and dust cling to neatly painted house walls that are no longer washed off properly. When an apple falls and smashes a pane of glass in the greenhouse, there is no one to mend it, nor the next, or the next. Rot wears at wooden beams and doors and they do not get replaced. The little cat turned esk bemoans her flawlessly cared for nursery, mourns for the orderly rows of terracotta pots that soon grow wild and crowded.

But little by little, with a bit of help, a sprig of greenery and hint of coloured bloom at a time, it returns to beauty.

When a little pansy shrub grows far from its parent’s flowerbed and struggles amongst the cobblestone path, Flicker digs at the stones until it has room to breath. If a flower bud reaches out to stick to her fur in the hope of spreading its seeds, she carries it with care to a sunny patch of dirt. A weak little horse chestnut sapling that found its way into a house can’t reach the outdoors, so she cracks a window for its branches to lean through. 

The moggies live happily in their loft, and are not fussed when hares begin burrowing through the straw left in the barn stalls. The rooftops and gutters of each building become perfect foundations for nesting birds of all types, and bats move into the church spire. As the flower beds break their borders and turn tidy lawns to blossoming meadows, tiny bugs materialise in the cracks of crumbling walls and on the underside of broad leaves. A group of fallow deer wander through the market place with no hesitation.

With the spring showers come May flowers, double or triple the amount of the previous year thanks to the extra room to stretch and grow. The brightly coloured petals and feathered yellow stamens of a multitude of species beam at the open sky, and Flicker’s swirling magic, enlivened by the happiness of Mother Earth in her boundary, suddenly splits off into a hundred little sparks that form honeybees. They are only as alive as their esk is, but they can carry pollen as well as any insect: they take to their task with vigour, and soon Flicker must watch her step to avoid treading on dainty flora that seems to sprout quicker than the sun can rise.

For the last few years, since the transformation that gave her endless time, Flicker had carried on doing the only thing she knew; she travelled from place to place, stopping back at her boundary for short periods before setting off again. After a life of doing the same she is fine to continue on with it, but with being abandoned comes a new purpose and suddenly Flicker is bored of being merely fine. It is the longest length of time she’s stayed in her boundary at once, and the weightless feeling of hope within her chest grows side by side with the environment. The restricting fastidiousness of the developed biome is softened by the freedom of plains wildflowers and forest seedlings, and they prompt wisps of happy memories from the past to bloom in the esk’s mind.

Finally, with the summer sun beating down upon the abandoned and overgrown village that she’s made her own, the last itch of disquiet settles within Flicker.

**Author's Note:**

> origin prompt 6: their purpose
> 
> Base Score: 33 AP (Writing: 1661 words)  
> +50 AP (Origin Prompt)  
> +2 AP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 AP * 2)  
> +5 AP (Personal Work Bonus)  
> +10 AP (Other Esk Bonus: 10 AP * 1)  
> +20 AP (Esk Interaction Bonus: 10 AP * 2)  
> +16 AP (Storyteller Bonus: 8 AP * 2)  
> Total AP per submission: 136
> 
> Base Score: 16 GP (Writing: 1661 words)  
> +10 GP (Origin Prompt)  
> +2 GP (Small Familiar/Swarm: 1 GP * 2)  
> +12 GP (Storyteller Bonus: 6 GP * 2)  
> Total GP per submission: 40


End file.
